Caffeinating
by GiorgiaKerr
Summary: Martin hasn't slept in far too long. Danny decides to help out. D/M fluff.
1. Chapter 1

**Spoilers:** Couch, couch, couch, couch! Couches in my fics tend to lead to happy things...

**Disclaimer:** Nup. Whatever, not mine.

**Author's Note:** Relatives. Ah, the joys of Christmas-time... Kill me.

* * *

Danny jumped slightly as he felt weight against his shoulder and looked down to see a few messy tufts of sandy hair against the black of his overcoat. He smiled at the sleeping lump that was Martin until he felt all the worst parts of the car door digging into his side, prompted by Martin's extra weight.

As much as the idea of Martin sleeping against him was appealing, being squished into the back door of Vivian's car was not particularly comfortable. Grinning, he nudged Martin, who was probably going to be mortified to have fallen asleep on Danny in the first place.

Martin's eyes were wide as he looked up at Danny's smirk.

They had just taken Samantha home, which Danny was thankful for, because otherwise Martin wouldn't be here, leaning into him. Danny tried to remember the last time he'd actually sat in the back seat of a car. Maybe 'sat' was the wrong verb, he thought with a smirk.

Martin grunted as he tried to stay awake.

"He needs caffeinating; badly," Danny mock-diagnosed when Martin inadvertently leaned a little harder against his shoulder again. Vivian laughed from the front seat.

"What he needs is _sleep_," she corrected knowing that despite the mocking tone, Danny was only half-joking. Vivian and Danny laughed while Martin tapped Danny on the shoulder, half-awake.

"'Caffeinating' isn't a word," he told Danny, words slurred by sleep. Danny just stared in amusement and annoyance. He hated being wrong – or corrected – but only Martin would correct his grammar while half-asleep on his shoulder.

"Martin?" Danny asked pointedly. Martin struggled to open his eyes, failing by just a little.

"Yes, Danny?" Martin answered with a slight smile on his face and Danny wondered if he knew exactly what he was doing.

"Shut up and sleep," Danny ordered.

* * *

Martin groaned as Danny poked him in the shoulder. He heard Danny's distinctive laugh and felt another nudge. Hearing Danny's voice but not being able to make out the words, he opened his eyes; which met Danny's almost instantly.

"No," he said automatically, seeing the question in Danny's eyes. Martin felt more than heard the groan his partner emitted.

"We're here, Fitz," he told him, only amusement in his voice.

"Oh," Martin grunted, suddenly realizing his position – somewhat on top of his partner – and righting himself. He now knew the cause of Danny's amusement.

Clearing his throat, he spoke directly to Vivian. "Thanks for the ride," he said without emotion – old Martin was back. _Awake_ Martin was back.

"Yeah, Martin, you're welcome," she said back, and by her tone of voice, he really was. "Get some sleep," she ordered, her no-nonsense face firmly in place.

Turning to Danny, he smiled tersely.

"Thanks for the shoulder," he said deadpanned.

Danny couldn't believe it; his stalwart partner was actually making a joke. The second in less than an hour, even. And a funny one at that. He smiled back, his grin showing Martin that he got his joke. The terse smile flickered with sincerity for an easily missable moment before he turned and left, heading towards his apartment with an unreadable gait.

A gait that faltered at the front door. Danny vaguely registered that Vivian was talking to him until she nudged him rather impolitely from the front seat.

"Aren't you going?" she asked as if she had asked the question before. Danny just stared at her; she was serious.

"What?" was all he could think of saying. Vivian rolled her eyes at him with a small I-know-everything smile; her favourite as far as Danny could tell.

"He can barely stand, Danny," she pointed out, rather motherly. Danny glanced at the slowly but determinedly retreating figure of his partner, then back as Vivian. She looked at him expectantly, as if knowing that he was wavering.

By the time he got out of the car, Martin was out of sight. Cursing softly in Spanish, he sent a half-goodnight-half-glare at Vivian and made his way to his partner's apartment. Once Vivian and her power of persuasion were out of sight, Danny let his shoulder's drop before squaring them again as he pressed the elevator button.

For all he – or that damned Vivian, for that matter – knew, Martin was happily passed out on his bed, or couch, and Danny's interruption would only be cause for a day or two of being ignored by an embittered Fitzgerald. Just what he needed; grumpy Martin was about as entertaining as an octogenarian on Valium.

Smirking at the imagery, Danny stopped in front of Martin's door and knocked.

After a minute or so, a semi-clothed Martin answered the door with a toothbrush sticking out of his mouth and a frown plastered on his face. The frown soon turned to surprise when he saw who it was. A fair amount of the annoyance came back after a second of shocked staring.

"What are you doing?" Danny asked incredulously. Martin's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"Me?" he asked indignantly. "What are _you_ doing?" His voice was muffled by toothpaste. Danny snorted; only Martin would brush his teeth after a near collapse from exhaustion. Still, Martin was looking rather testy, so Danny figured he had better answer.

He could always make fun of him later.

"Viv sent me up to make sure you hadn't passed out in the elevator, or something," he teased. Martin rolled his eyes unsuccessfully then blinked deliberately. He pinched the bridge of his nose and stepped aside, motioning Danny in.

Trying not to let his surprise over Martin's hospitality show, Danny smiled – with not a little bit of cockiness – and followed the prompts. Martin flicked a hand at the couch – which, of course, was clutter-free – and disappeared into a hallway or doorway of some sort.

Taking a deep breath and removing both coats, Danny suddenly realised how tired _he_ was. He'd been too busy worrying about getting Martin home before he collapsed of exhaustion, and not getting chastised by Viv, that it hadn't occurred to him that he had only had about three hours more sleep than Martin in the past few days.

Though, admittedly, that was a _grand total_ of three hours, which meant that Martin hadn't slept at all in almost four days.

And now the man was brushing his teeth.

Danny snorted, amused and disgusted by Martin's habits. The man was going to run himself into the ground through OCD.

Spotting a television sitting on a cabinet across from the couch he was slumped on, he searched for a remote. He found it on top of the television – a highly illogical and impractical place for a remote, Danny thought – where it obviously spent most of its time.

The places that Danny would have thought to house the remote were all empty except one – the easiest to reach from the couch – which was occupied by a very well-read novel. Interest peaked, Danny flicked a glance to the place to which Martin had vanished before picking up the novel.

Not bothering to read the blurb, he opened it to the first page.

He was asleep by the second.

* * *

Martin slogged into the bathroom, feeling like he was wading through knee-high mud. It was quite possible that he was, when he thought about it; it wasn't like he could actually _see_ properly. His vision had been so bad, so muddled and fuzzy from exhaustion, that when he opened the door to find Danny standing there, he had thought he was just seeing things. Or, perhaps, that he had passed out after all, and was dreaming again. And that thought had given him pause.

Grunting himself awake, and forcing his focus onto his reflection in the bathroom mirror, he took hold of his toothbrush again and began to think. How was he going to get Danny – politely – out of his apartment? Martin knew that Danny wouldn't go until he knew that he was okay; though whether for his sake or for Danny's or for Vivian's he didn't know.

After sticking his toothbrush back into its rightful place – _a place for everything and everything in its place_ – Martin threw some cold water onto his face, shivering as it ran mutinously down his bare chest, to wake himself up for long enough to kick Danny out.

Since he was a child, Martin had always found it difficult to sleep with someone else in the near vicinity. Perhaps it had been the fact that his parents were so rarely home that he had grown up sleeping alone; or that their bedrooms were in an entirely different _wing_ of the house that left Martin alone even when he wasn't; or maybe it was just his inherent mistrust of people as a whole that left him nervous, knowing there was someone else in his house.

Whatever it was, Martin was so rarely in that situation that he didn't really bother thinking about it much. That and the fact that it was too painful to psychoanalyse himself on a regular basis.

Martin's sleep-addled mind made mince meat of those thoughts while he stumbled without grace into the lounge room. When he saw Danny, however, he was hit with a strange mix of annoyance and affection.

The other man lay sprawled across the couch – gracefully, damn him – with Martin's novel in his hands. His tie, suit jacket and overcoat were flung over the back of the couch.

He stood, staring at his partner with totally conflicting emotions as he decided what to do with him. It was either wake him and send him on his way, wake him and let him leave himself, or _not_ wake him and let him stay. Letting Danny choose wasn't really an option. He had a feeling he knew exactly what Danny would do – or perhaps that was what he _hoped_ Danny would do – if he were to choose.

He'd smirk; he'd give Martin that look that drove him insane on a very regular basis; he'd inevitably talk Martin into letting him stay.

Sighing, Martin decided that waking him up was, after all, not an option. Which left him with the one he both loved and hated.

He really didn't want to go into the reasons why Danny sleeping on his couch was an idea he found appealing. He remembered his earlier thoughts – muddled as they were - as to why he hated having people around while he slept, but now...

The idea of that vulnerability, of that invasion, didn't occur to him. He trusted Danny, he knew, but he never expected to _want_ him.

Groaning inwardly at the thoughts, and telling himself that they were simply those of a fatigued insanity, he moved over to his partner, prying the book from his hands as gently as he could. He grabbed the blanket that he kept on the end of the couch – he knew there would someday be a reason for that – and placed it over Danny awkwardly, positioning it over his shoulders as one might a child.

Martin resisted the urge to touch him further, kiss his forehead. And _God_...

What the hell was happening to him?

He made a mental note to never go this long without sleep again.

* * *

Feeling a weight on him that had not been there before, Danny forced his eyes open in the way only a trained FBI agent could after four days without sleep. All he saw was pale skin. Eyebrows drawing together, he shook himself out of sleep more forcefully and lifted his head. His eyes fell on blue eyes and quickly reddening cheeks. Danny smiled, realising who it was and just how _close_ he was.

"Christ, Martin," he chastised. "Go to _bed_!" He blinked heavily but smiled; he'd learned that Martin usually needed to be _told _when Danny was joking. Judging by the almost painfully slow smile he received in return, he was right.

As his eyes held Martin's he realised that Martin's hands were on his shoulders, gripping a blanket. And apparently Martin _hadn't_ realised yet, because they were still there. Risking a glance down, he noticed that his partner was, indeed, still not wearing a shirt. _Oh Hell_.

Danny inhaled as his eyes met his partner's again; unfortunately, not helping the situation, all he could smell was Martin. His eyes looked totally conflicted, everything from terror to desire. His jaw was set, and Danny could feel tension in his hands and arms; had to force himself not to look at his chest.

Just as Danny was about to speak – though he had no idea what he intended to say – he felt the grip on his shoulders weaken, and Martin's eyes fluttered closed. Suddenly, Martin was falling forward.

With a surprised grunt, Danny reached out to grab Martin, landing them awkwardly on the couch, Danny still half-sitting.

As he lay his passed out partner on the couch and tried to tap him awake, he both thanked and cursed Martin's timing.

"Martin," he said impatiently. "Wake up, man."

It didn't work. At least the man was breathing; that was something. But now he had a half-naked Martin, half-on top of him, and totally asleep. He wormed his way off the couch and frowned at the sleeping form. Now what? How was he supposed to deal with _this_? He figured the best thing to start with was covering his partner. The bare chest wasn't helping Danny's thoughts clear from their sleep-fogged state. Not at all.

He groaned and pulled the blanket out from underneath Martin, earning an undignified grunt that under any other circumstance would have had Danny in fits of laughter. All he could manage now was a half-hearted smirk. Martin shifted slightly on the uncomfortable couch, curling into something resembling a foetal position. Danny's smirk turned into an affectionate smile before he could stop it. _Dammit_.

Danny wasn't supposed to feel like this. Ever.

Still, though, the issue of where he was going to sleep seemed more important, so he momentarily pushed the thought to the back of his mind. It had to be at least midnight, so - damn the weekend - getting a cab was not going to be easy. Walking was totally out of the question, considering that Danny wasn't sure he could walk a block, let alone across town. Vivian was probably asleep in her own bed by now, comfortable and no doubt pleased with herself.

Basically, Danny had the option of Martin's bed, or the floor. And he knew very well which sounded more enticing. That said, he was pretty sure he could easily fall asleep on a fire escape at the moment.

As he stood, thinking about where to sleep, he heard Martin grunt again and looked down. The man looked totally peaceful; already he looked less tired, less haggard. So far, his sleep seemed to be unmarred by the nightmares Danny was sure Martin had. They all had them, he knew; the team. Hell, most _every_ law enforcement officer did. As far as Danny was concerned, those who claimed they didn't were egotists, liars, or sociopaths.

Danny sighed, his mood changed by these thoughts. He frowned as he watched Martin sleep – partially because he _was_ _watching_ Martin sleep – then turned toward the rest of the apartment. He'd sleep in Martin's bed. He knew his partner would probably have some sort of fit when he found out, but, at the moment, he couldn't care less. The idea of inevitable nightmares had put him in a sombre mood, making him all the more tired than he had been before.

Which made turning towards where he thought the bedroom was a very slow process. As he took one step away from the couch, a voice brought him back.

"Danny," Martin whispered. Danny stopped; he'd never heard that tone of voice before, and the last person he'd ever expected to hear it from was Martin. Especially saying _his_ name. The combination of all three things made Danny's heart beat faster than it really had any right to.

Danny turned considerably faster than he had before only to see Martin still asleep on the couch: eyes closed, lips parted just so, blankets hanging off the couch revealing all too much. He wasn't sure whether he was glad that Martin was still asleep, or disappointed.

Perhaps it was some twisted combination of the two. On the one hand, Danny would have very much liked Martin to be conscious of having said that, in _That_ _Way_. On the other hand, what the _Hell_ was he dreaming about? Danny vaguely wondered how many times he'd said Martin's name That Way in _his_ sleep. He didn't doubt it had been at least a few.

As Danny stood, staring at his partner, Martin said his name again. This time, though, it was questioning, as if he were looking for him. His heart beat a little faster, but this time out of something like fear. Martin almost whined in his sleep, and Danny took a step closer, worried.

_These_ were the nightmares he knew were coming. He'd had enough of his Martin-dreams evolve into something sinister before, he didn't see why the same wouldn't happen to Martin. Only, Martin didn't _have_ Danny-dreams. He couldn't.

Martin winced; sleep taking away all the masks he usually had in place to hide his feelings. He looked pained, and all Danny could think about was how to stop it.

"Fitz," he said weakly, not sure how to act. 'Comfort' was not a particularly common part of Danny's emotional repertoire. Especially when it came to personal matters. After a second of indecision, Danny sat on the edge of the couch, Martin's knees touching his back, his head almost in his lap.

"Fitz," he said a little more calmly, more reassuringly. "Martin... Fitz," he prodded as the man's breathing became laboured. Martin groaned in something like pain, and Danny had to force himself not to panic. A shootout he could handle, but a scared Martin? He was pretty damn sure no one had ever even _seen_ one of those before, let alone handled one.

"Wake up, Fitz," Danny ordered pathetically. He didn't comply, only shifted and whimpered again. Now Martin's face was buried against Danny's thigh. Frowning with worry, Danny put a hand to Martin's hair; his frown softened.

"Fitz," he murmured, shocked by the amount of desperation in his voice. Martin jerked a little against him, stilled, then relaxed. Danny sighed with relief, leaning down to place his forehead against Martin's shoulder.

"Danny?"

It was his turn to jerk, now. Martin was on the brink of wakefulness, eyelids fluttering, and Danny wondered whether to get Martin into his bed or let him sleep where he was. Feeling a dull ache in his own back, he made up his mind and nudged Martin.

"Yeah, Fitz," he said, voice barely above a whisper, and Danny couldn't for the life of him figure out why. "Come on, get into bed. That couch is hell, man," he added, joking because it was comfortable.

Martin managed a wry smile. "Don't diss my couch," he complained mockingly. Danny laughed and tugged on Martin's arm just enough to get him up. Once standing, Martin seemed to be almost coherent as he let Danny support him on his way to his room.

Pulling back the covers, Danny all but pushed Martin into his bed; Martin went willingly, though he shuffled across to the other side of the bed. For a terrifying second, Danny thought that Martin might be making room for him.

Apparently Martin had that same worry, because he heard a quiet, "I sleep on the left," muffled through pillows. Danny had to laugh at that before making a decision without actually realising he was trying to decide something.

He flopped unceremoniously onto the bed, kicking his shoes off. He lay on his back, careful not to actually _touch_ Martin, another thought hit him.

"Fitz?" he asked, wondering if his partner was still awake. Martin grunted. "'Diss' is not a word."

"Danny?" Martin asked absently. Danny had a feeling he knew what was coming next.

"Yes, Martin?"

"Shut up and sleep."

* * *

Okay, I'm undecided. Another chapter?

Because this could work as a oneshot, or as a chapter story.

It's up to you!


	2. Chapter 2

**Spoilers:** Innuendo is fun, innuendo is fun, innuendo is fun, innuendo is fun!

**Disclaimer:** Nuttin'.

**Author's Note: **Umm, here's chapter two! Enjoy! I know_ I_ did… (In a not-dirty way).

* * *

Sucking in a deep breath, Danny squirmed; he shoved his head further into his pillow, wondering absently why it smelled so good. He stretched, not quite ready to open his eyes just yet, and arched his back like a cat. He frowned a little when he came into contact with something. Some_one. _

Someone who was very close, and very – enticingly – warm. Making a fuzzy mental note to remember who his bed-partner was – later, not now – he arched his back again. And didn't that feel so much better than stretching? Apparently his companion agreed with that. Very much so.

_That_ was definitely a reaction he knew how to deal with. Smiling hazily, he turned to face the still-sleeping someone. Fully intent on waking him up, Danny opened his eyes as he hooked a leg around Martin's hip.

Martin.

Something akin to horror struck him, and Danny dragged himself away from Martin, now entirely too awake. In more ways than one.

Cursing, he double-checked that Martin was still sleeping before opting for leaving the room silently, in search of the bathroom. He paused as Martin's eyes fluttered sleepily, and he rolled onto his stomach. Danny's heart beat a little faster at the thought that Martin was looking for someone. For _him_.

But hell, Martin _couldn't_ have known it was him, let alone anything more than a dream. A damned good dream, at that. Cursing his segueing mind, he panicked, leaning over Martin.

"Go back to sleep, Fitz," he tried quietly, wondering which would be worse: Martin waking up on his own and seeing Danny, or Martin waking up _because_ of him and seeing Danny.

He pictured the clolour Martin's cheeks would turn when he realized the… state he was in.

And no. This would not do. At all.

"Go back to sleep, Martin," he said more sternly, as if commanding would work better than cajoling. And, apparently, it did. Danny made a mental note to remember that, his still-aware – and apparently traitorous – mind running through all the instances in which that could be utilized. Seeing Martin's body relax, Danny sighed, leaving the room as quickly as he could without making any noise.

He padded to the bathroom, then to the kitchen.

It didn't take him very long to find everything he needed; Martin was possibly the most organized person he'd ever met. And an organized coffee fanatic, at that. Everything that could possibly be required – or even _considered_ – for making coffee was within reach if one stood next to the coffee maker.

Danny smiled at that, dug out a few coffee mugs, and moved into the lounge room. Spotting the novel that he'd begun the night before, Danny picked it up. Anything to keep his mind off that all-too-familiar feeling his body seemed intent on reminding him of.

* * *

Martin drifted in and out of consciousness in the most pleasurable of ways. Never quite making it to reality, his mind fluttered with images that meant everything and nothing. Not that he particularly cared. He was content – somewhere in the more conscious part of his brain – with the fact that they were not, for a change, nightmares.

It had been too long since he'd had a relatively undisturbed sleep; been too long since he'd felt this.

And, God help him, _that_.

Now _that_ was something that he would willingly replace sleep with, but he knew – somewhere – that if he woke up, that sensation would disappear. So he let himself remain semi-conscious for a few minutes.

He felt movement next to him, and registered vaguely that his imagination had somehow gotten much, _much_ better. He could feel a back pressing against his chest, then other things pressing against much more keen places. Then it was gone, and he cursed his masochistic imagination for teasing him so effectively.

And that appeared to work, because then the weight was back, and _man_, his imagination had really, _truly_, improved since last time.

Martin began to drift into consciousness, intent on making the most of this dream while he could, but as he did, the weight was gone. And didn't _that_ just suck? Martin rolled over, not yet ready to lose his imaginary lover. His eyes opened, and he shut them again, holding onto the last dregs of sleep. He knew that once he was fully awake, this would be over.

And then he saw Danny's face in his mind's eye. And that in itself was enough reason to go back to sleep; having the dreamt apparition turn into Danny wasn't a particularly rare occurrence, but it made the dreams all the more… enticing. He heard Danny's voice – slightly clearer than it usually was in his dreams – telling him to sleep.

The first time, it was almost imploring. And hey, who was Martin to say no? But then it was a command, and Martin was one who took commands. Especially if they lead to the places Martin intended.

* * *

When he woke, it was to the smell of coffee and the frustration of his dream going in totally the wrong direction. As soon as he'd lulled himself back to sleep – with not a little help from dream-Danny – he had found himself in the east wing of his childhood home in Washington, being chased by their neighbors' dog. Toto; the Rottweiler. It was ironic even in his dream.

And then he sat upright much faster then he thought possible. Coffee. His apartment smelled like coffee. He felt the familiar wave of panic rising in his chest before he remembered the events of the previous night. And then the panic rose again.

Danny had fallen asleep with him. In his apartment; in his _bed_. At the time, he'd been so far gone that he probably would have fallen asleep with _Jack_ - perhaps even Toto the Rottweiler –in his bed, but oh, God. He recalled – without much effort – his dream, and the very _physical_ reaction he'd had to that dream.

Oh, crap.

He told himself that there was a possibility that Danny had already been awake; or that even if he wasn't, there's no way he'd have noticed. He would have had to have been incredibly close to notice _that_. And Martin was pretty damned sure he would have noticed if Danny was that close.

The thought gave him enough courage to convince himself to get out of bed. There was a chance that Danny was gone, anyway, having left the coffee as a friendly gesture. He smiled at the thought; that was definitely something Danny would do.

* * *

He heard Martin enter the room before he saw him. As graceful as Martin sometimes _looked_, he was a klutz. And Danny figured that their early-morning adventures hadn't really helped at all. At the thought, he turned to see a bed-ruffled Martin wander into the room, having neglected to don the safety device Danny liked to call a 'shirt'.

Oh, God.

This was going to be a long day.

Despite his still-sleepy appearance, Martin appraised him with what was almost skepticism; as if he were surprised that Danny hadn't left.

Danny looked at Martin in what he assumed must be a similar way, trying to figure out if Martin had actually been awake earlier – at least, awake enough to notice something. From the suddenly calm expression on Martin's face, Danny figured not. Apparently Martin had come to the conclusion he had wanted as well, because he relaxed, almost in synch with Danny.

Martin moved a little further into the room, smiling a good morning. "You made coffee?" he asked, amusement and confusion in his voice. Danny held up his mug as evidence and put down the book he had been reading – he had to admit that it was much more interesting when he was _awake_ – and followed Martin into the kitchen. He smirked at his partner's bare back, watching him reach for the coffee pot.

He couldn't help it. "How'd you sleep?"

Turning to meet Danny's smirk, Martin's face registered shock for a very – _very_ – brief moment before becoming a mask of indifference. "Fine," he said noncommittally, shrugging one shoulder. "You?"

Danny smirked. "Best sleep I've had in way too long," he admitted. Which, really, was the truth. Though, for once, the waking up hadn't sucked, either. Martin looked a little taken aback before taking a sip of coffee.

Instantly, his features relaxed and he leaned against the bench, sighing. Danny raised an eyebrow, and as soon as Martin opened his eyes, he blushed. "Good coffee," he explained a little too quickly.

Danny only smirked, because teasing Martin was much, much simpler than making awkward conversation.

Martin glanced around the kitchen, as if Superman-ing the cupboards to see what was in them. He sighed. "I'd, uh… I'd offer you some breakfast, but, uh, there's not really anything here," he explained. Danny honestly couldn't see what was so difficult about admitting to having no food, but the blush that Martin's awkwardness caused was enough reason for Danny to not care.

Danny smiled. "Tell me about it. I haven't eaten a full meal in at least four days," he agreed, suddenly realizing that he was incredibly, incredibly hungry. Martin laughed.

"Well, maybe if you had have actually _gone home_ during the Randall case, you'd be okay," Martin countered. And there - _that_ was why Danny preferred teasing to seriousness. He'd tease, Martin would reciprocate, and everything would be okay; normal. Well, as normal as it ever got with the two of them.

"Me? At least I _slept_," he argued. "And vending machine _junk_ does not count as a meal, Fitz," he chastised. It was true enough. Martin hadn't consumed anything but chocolate bars, bad coffee and the occasional bag of potato chips since their last case began. Martin snorted.

"Actually, come to think about it, something that isn't chocolate doesn't sound too bad right about now," he said, almost to himself. Martin turned abruptly and opened the closest cupboard, as if to double check that there wasn't, indeed, any food there. "God, it's like college all over again…"

Danny laughed as Martin closed the cupboard dejectedly, trying not to remember the bottles that had stocked _his_ kitchen throughout most of college. Instead, he decided to poke a little fun at Martin.

"When it comes to food, Fitz, I don't think you ever _left_ college," he said, mock-wistfully. He barely dodged the tea-towel that was hurtled at him from across the room. And yes, this was how they were supposed to be. Flirting-but-not. It was what they did.

And, Danny had to admit, they did it incredibly well.

Martin's face was lit with a rare grin as he spoke.

"I'm going to have a shower, and then we're going to get something to eat," he told Danny decisively. Danny just smirked.

* * *

Martin sighed as the hot water hit him; the first real shower he'd had in days. Rolling his shoulders, he let his head hang down, the water drumming his neck soothingly. He'd been tense for as long as he had been showerless – probably longer, really – and the feeling of muscles relaxing was one that he swore he'd never take for granted again.

He shampooed his hair and soaped himself methodically, the same way he'd been doing for years. He pictured how Danny would laugh if he knew that Martin even _showered_ systematically, and that was not a good idea. Danny's laugh was one of those sounds that tended to cause unexpected reactions in Martin, and after this morning, his body was not letting him get away with much.

If he was lucky, the reaction would be merely physical. And that was how bad it was: the physical reaction was almost _welcomed_ if it meant he didn't have to deal with the confusing-as-hell emotions that Danny's happiness tended to evoke.

He turned the shower onto cold.

* * *

Danny forced his eyes to stay on Martin's as he wandered into the lounge room wearing only a towel. His hair was even more mussed than it had been when Martin had gotten out of bed, but now droplets of water trailed – more tantalizingly than was strictly necessary – down his chest. The first thing that came into Danny's mind was something along the lines of _licking_.

Holy hell, the man was trying to kill him, he was sure of it. There wasn't one other explanation that he could think of that made sense.

Except, perhaps, that Martin was really as oblivious as Danny had previously thought.

"Bathroom's all yours," Martin told him casually. Danny smiled in thanks, put down the book he was reading – really, it was getting interesting – and headed for the bathroom.

As he started the water, he watched the steam rise off the spray and smirked. He hadn't realized until that moment that there hadn't already been any steam in the room. That meant one of three things: Martin's fan worked unusually well, Martin didn't like his water too hot, or Martin had taken a cold shower.

Stripping out of his wrinkled work-clothes, Danny chuckled at that. He _knew_ Martin had been just as affected by this morning's adventures as he was – it was kind of hard not to know – but this was just amusing. And a little comforting. And a little annoying. At least Martin had the luxury of thinking he had been dreaming; of not knowing what had really happened.

Not that Danny intended to forget. He intended on simply filing the memory away under the label of _Things That Will Never Happen #5: Martin_.

This thought brought a smirk, and a whole barrage of memories that Danny was pretty sure he shouldn't be having right now. Not with Martin in the other room. Not with Martin in the same building. The possibility of jumping the man was too great. In more than one way.

No, there was not going to be any hot _anything_ today.

And that, unfortunately, included showers.

* * *

Martin shuffled around his bedroom, trying – and failing rather miserably – not to think about his partner. His currently very close and very naked partner. Well, it would have been close, was he able to walk through walls. Distance versus displacement, the part of his brain that stored 'high school' chimed in.

And yes, that, there, was a safe topic. Calculus. There were only so many places his mind could take calculus. There were fabulously few ways of making calculus dirty. Because that's what thinking of Danny like this was; dirty. Not dirty in the Catholic-preacher sense, but dirty in the Fitzgerald-family sense.

Not that Martin believed any of that crap that his father had spouted at him. But it was hard not to use his sheltered childhood as an excuse sometimes. Pathetic, he knew, but it was easier than lusting after his partner with less than a guilty conscience.

Hearing the water shut off, Martin flung a few items of clothing on – there were only so many ways one could make jeans-and a-tee-shirt look _bad, _and not even Martin could manage those – and vacated his bedroom to knock on the bathroom door.

He heard a _whack_ then a muffled grunt. He smirked.

"Uh, if you want to, uh, borrow some clothes, feel free," he called through the bathroom door, glad that Danny couldn't see just how red his face was. He figured he probably knew anyway, the same way that Martin knew Danny was smirking right now.

"Yeah," was all he got in response.

* * *

Danny moved out of Martin's room, having grabbed a pair of Martin's pants – the irony of literally _getting into_ Martin's pants didn't go unnoticed – and headed into the living room. Martin looked up from the book that Danny had been reading earlier, appraising Danny's bare torso with what he could only assume was supposed to be subtlety.

That or he was making things up to compensate for his _own_ attraction.

He moved over to his bag, feeling Martin's eyes follow him, and pulled out a clean undershirt that he had been meaning to change into for a few days but never quite got around to. Eager for a distraction because Martin's eyes all but burned, Danny nodded his head towards the book as he slipped his shirt on.

"Good book," was all he managed. Yep, smooth charmer, alright. He mentally hit himself. Martin actually physically brightened at that, as though he couldn't wait to talk about it. Then Danny reminded himself that this was Martin, and forgot to be shocked.

"Yeah," Martin agreed, standing up to get his keys. "It's uh… I've read it about a dozen times," he admitted, face reddening in that all-too-endearing way. Danny grinned.

"I think I was supposed to read it a couple of times in high school but was too busy not going that I never got 'round to it," he stated, almost surprised by the fact that the bitterness that usually came from talking about his past wasn't there. Martin grinned back; a grin that Danny really, really wanted to kiss.

"A couple of times?" he asked, casually curious. Danny shrugged.

"I went to about four different schools every year," he said indifferently, again surprised by the lack of resentment he felt. "I swear the curriculums are consecutive. One school does one novel, then passes it to the next, then the next…"

Martin looked uncertain whether to laugh or try and comfort Danny, so he smiled, letting Martin know he hadn't pushed too far. Martin relaxed, but still didn't smile. Danny sighed.

"It's okay, Fitz," he said quietly. Martin didn't look convinced so Danny took a step closer. "Martin, I don't mind talking about it," he said, only half-lying. "There are some things I'd rather not discuss; but this isn't one of them."

He put as much honesty into his statement as he was capable of, and Martin relaxed a little.

"Besides, I figure if I want to hear all your dirty little boarding school tales, I gotta give a little first."

Martin's face reddened despite the smile that played at his lips. "Sure, Danny," he said, rolling his eyes and heading out the door, waiting for Danny to follow him. "Like I'd ever tell you," he quipped, seeming to relish in the fact that Danny's step faltered just enough to be noticeable.

* * *

Martin fought back a laugh as Danny gestured with his food. There were very few people who could do that and still look dignified, and apparently his partner was one of them. Danny's hand gestures usually warranted some amount of personal-space, just to be safe, but this morning, Danny seemed to be even more excitable than usual. Martin allowed himself to entertain the possibility that this had something to do with him for a few minutes before shoving the thought back down.

"…so the professor babbled on for almost twenty minutes about the ramifications of pumpkin farming on Native American culture," Danny concluded, and Martin laughed because Danny's stories were actually surprisingly funny. "I tell you, man: that was the best reason I ever had not to study history."

Martin grinned at him and took another sip of coffee. When he looked back at Danny, he saw a kind of curiosity that he hadn't seen on him before. It was unnerving.

"What about you?" Danny asked casually, despite his expression. "I wasn't joking about the dirty tales, you know." Martin almost choked on his pancakes. There was _one_ incident in particular that came to mind when Danny mentioned that, and it wasn't one he particularly wanted to share with Danny.

Well, that was sort of a lie; he probably would have if circumstances were different. Say, if Danny were actually _attracted_ to him.

"Really, Danny," he said, rolling his eyes for effect, "nothing interesting ever happened to me in high school." Not even _he_ was convinced.

"Oh, come on, Fitz! There's got to be something…" he informed him. Martin was beginning to get a little annoyed by Danny's persistence. It was almost as if he knew _exactly_ which 'experience' Martin was thinking of. His next comment, however, shoved that idea right out of his head. "No sneaking girls into the dorms…?"

Danny's expression was just a little apprehensive, and wasn't that odd? Martin blushed again, this time for a multitude of reasons.

"No. I can honestly tell you I never snuck a girl into the dorms," he said. Apparently Danny was contented by this, because he just nodded and picked up his coffee.

"You ever sneak a _guy_ into the dorms?" he asked almost casually.

This time, Martin did choke.

Dear God, _how_ could this be happening? Was he _that_ obvious, or was Danny just screwing with him? It wasn't like it would be the first time. A look at Danny told Martin that there was definitely some not-so-indifferent curiosity there. He wasn't even smirking like usual, and this really couldn't be happening.

Martin suddenly realized that his silence – and the fact that he probably looked like he'd just seen Santa get eaten by the Loch Ness monster – was probably as telltale as anything he could have said. Severely embarrassed by all of this, Martin looked intently around the room, refusing to look at Danny. He knew he was blushing furiously.

Deciding whether or not to just get up and leave, Martin felt a weight on his hand. He looked down to see Danny's hand on his own, and forced himself not to jerk away from the touch. When he finally made himself to look at Danny, he was shocked to see a smirk firmly in place.

"It's alright, Martin," Danny said when their eyes met, as if that were a perfectly reasonable response. Because it _wasn't _a reasonable response, not in the least. Danny could not have just asked that, and Martin could not have just admitted that, and they were simply not having this conversation.

Danny squeezed his hand, and he realized – with not a little panic – that they were indeed having this conversation. In the back of his mind, Martin registered that this meant something, but was too preoccupied with the way Danny was looking at him to make much sense of it. And now – damn that look Danny was giving him – he was incapable of lying.

"It's not alright, Danny," he countered. Not being able to lie didn't mean he couldn't hold back a little. And at that, Danny's eyes flashed with something like pain, then a distant sort of regret.

Martin couldn't stay here any longer. This was going nowhere he wanted to go, especially not with Danny.

"I… I can't," he said, wondering whether or not Danny would pick up on his reasons without him having to voice them. Whether or not he wanted him to. Martin stood, not quite registering exactly what he was doing beyond _getting_ _away_.

As he reached the sidewalk outside, he felt a hand on his arm. He almost laughed; he should have known that Danny would follow him; knew him well enough to expect that and nothing less.

"I'm sorry, Fitz," he said quietly. And that was unexpected. Very unexpected, because there wasn't a trace of pity or disgust in his voice, only… something else. Something Martin didn't really _want_ to name; wasn't sure if he really could.

"Why… why did you ask me?" he questioned finally, sounding far too pathetic for his liking. "Why that?"

There were a few seconds of silence, and then Danny was kissing him.

And wow, that was unexpected. Never had he considered this anything more than an unrequited and entirely surreal attraction on his part. But with the way Danny was kissing him now, there was nothing unrequited about it at all. Surreal, yes, but Danny was kissing him with a vigor he was sure no one had ever kissed him with before. Never in his thirty-five odd years of life had anyone apparently _wanted_ him so much.

And that thought was enough to make him pull away from his newfound – and already favorite – activity.

"You didn't answer my question," he managed if a little petulantly, proud of the fact that he'd formed a cohesive sentence. "Why did you ask me that?"

Danny rolled his eyes as if Martin were the densest person alive. And perhaps he was. He wasn't sure of very much at the moment.

"Fitz, if you really have to ask me that, I clearly didn't kiss you obviously enough," Danny teased, smirk back in place. Piecing together most of what Danny had just said to him, and a few fragments of what he remembered of the night before, Martin cautioned a smile.

"Then shut up and tell me."

Danny laughed at him, but complied all too willingly. As Danny moved ever so slightly against him in a way that was far too sexual for public, a memory flashed through Martin's head, and he was struck with the rather exhilarating notion that he hadn't, after all, been dreaming. Exhilaration quickly replaced by annoyance because Danny hadn't told him. Or, for that matter, hadn't had the decency to wake him up.

Martin was suddenly very sure that getting into bed would be much quicker tonight.

* * *

Sorry the second chapter took so long; hope it was worth the wait!

Giorgia


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